


Suspicious Minds and Innocent Hearts

by MostHopelessofRomantics



Series: The Champions of Peace [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, F/M, Hawke is obsessed with balls, Healing by Humping, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Kirkwall Circle, Mages and Templars, Major canon divergence, Rare Pairings, Romance, Samson helps!, The Gallows, forbidden feelings, knight in templar armor, smut happens, so is Isabela, some girls have all the luck, virgin Bethany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/pseuds/MostHopelessofRomantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When fears are forgotten and biases discarded, lines are easily blurred and easier to cross. Knight-Captain Cullen of the Kirkwall Circle has taken on an enigmatic new charge who leads him to question everything about the Templar Order. It's in her arms that he finds the courage to take a stand.</p>
<p>*** A companion piece to Peacekeepers and Champions ***<br/>~ This story spans from the end of Act 1 (Dragon Age II) to the birth of the Inquisition ~</p>
<p>^^ This can be read as a stand-alone story ^^            <b> CANON DIVERGENT </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The streets of Kirkwall’s Lowtown District weren’t considered by most to be pleasurable strolling paths, but Cullen always enjoyed any scenery that wasn’t the Gallows. Day in and day out, the same faces, the same complaints. Setting foot into the city proper was a small relief, even if it was in the name of duty. Tonight, he marched through the crumbling and stinking streets to take a known apostate into custody. He lead four Templars up the stairs of a hovel, and they moved into position on the small landing. Cullen removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm before knocking on the rotting wood of the ill-hung door.

He could hear the shuffling of footfalls and moving furniture before the door was unlatched and opened slightly. Pale blue-grey eyes peeked through the crack and widened in surprise. Cullen was used to that reaction. He merely tilted his head forward slightly without breaking his gaze, a silent affirmation that he was there for one reason only. A mage.

The light-colored eyes momentarily narrowed in defiance, but a mask of politeness was donned quickly and the door opened fully to him. A man of manners, Cullen bowed to the middle-aged woman before him.    

“Lady Hawke,” Cullen began, “I am Knight-Captain Cullen, and I believe you know why I’m here.” Leandra Hawke’s hand flew to her mouth and trembled as she tried to hide her fear. Cullen’s expression softened. “May I come in?”

Leandra’s eyes darted warily from Cullen to the men flanking him. “Of course, Ser Cullen,” she said sweetly as her worried gaze returned to him.  

“Stand watch,” he ordered the others before crossing the threshold into the sparsely furnished house. The door closed behind him, and his bootsteps on the warped wooden floor echoed off the bare plaster walls. Wringing her hands anxiously, Leandra approached him with slow steps.

“I’ve been dreading this for a decade,” she sighed, lowering herself into a rough-hewn chair and motioning for Cullen to do the same. He took a seat opposite her, and offered her his handkerchief as tears began trickling down her cheeks.

“Lady Hawke, it brings me no joy to do this,” he said comfortingly. Well, as comfortingly as he could. The hardest part about apprehending apostates was dealing with their loved ones, for that’s whom they would inevitably run to. 

Attacks from the mages could be deflected or crushed by weapons and training. Keeping the non-mages safe in the process was trying, but still important. Most times Cullen had to dodge projectiles like rocks or dishes, or counter physical attacks like slaps to the face or knees to the groin. Once in a rare while, however, he was met with sorrow and grief, and those were the times he had trouble forgetting at the end of the day. 

“I chose to come here personally,” Cullen admitted, “out of respect.” The Hawke matriarch stared at him with confusion as he continued. “Your daughters have done good things - for Templars and mages, alike. I’m compelled to tell you that there are some within the Order, however, that wish to see your youngest daughter captured like dangerous fugitive. It’s known to us that Marian is away on an expedition, and cannot protect Bethany. I came here today to take her to the Circle myself, with respect, rather than allow some of the less ‘sympathetic’ of my brothers or sisters to take her by force.” 

“Either Bethany comes with me now, under my supervision and protection” he said, rising from his seat, “or others will find her and it will be much more unpleasant.” 

Leandra jumped to her feet and paced the length of the room in clear agitation. “Impossible,” she muttered. “I’ll not just  _ hand _ her over to the Circle, Ser Cullen. I am her mother.” She stepped up to Cullen and grasped his hand. It was trembling, and he could feel the agony of anxiety in the woman’s pulse. 

Taking a mage away from a mother was uncomfortable, even for an experienced Templar like himself. He took consolation in the fact that this time it was a grown woman he had come for, and didn’t have to pry a wailing and frightened child from a parent’s loving arms.

“Couldn’t you just leave empty handed?” Leandra begged as tears fell onto her chest, darkening the sage green linen of her modest dress. “Say she wasn’t here? Give us time to leave this place? I promise you’ll never see or hear of us again.”

“I’m afraid  _ that _ is impossible,” Cullen replied, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it to fall by her side. “You have my terms, Lady Hawke.”

The creaking of rusted door hinges drew Cullen’s attention toward the rear of the house. Out of the shadows of the warm lamplight stepped a demure figure.

“He’s right, mother,” Bethany confessed as she exited the bedroom. She wore an ankle-skimming nightgown of simple cotton that slid off of one shoulder. As she lifted her arms to throw on a shawl, Cullen caught sight of her delicate and sensual curves, silhouetted by candlelight. 

“If I’m going to be taken by a Templar, I’d rather it by his hand than by someone else’s sword.”

Cullen couldn’t help but notice the softness with which Bethany spoke and the fluidity of her movements as she approached, like a silk ribbon on a gentle breeze. With shock, he realized that his attention had been captured, and he diverted it quickly to avoid it being stolen permanently. Mages knew how to trap the hearts and souls of men, and the beautiful ones were especially dangerous. Cullen would not lose himself to a creature like Bethany Hawke.

Bethany looked up at Cullen with pleading eyes of gilded amber. “They will be safe, right? My mother and sister? No one will come after them for protecting me?” she asked, crossing her arm over her chest and resting her hand on the crook of her long, elegant neck. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, if you can ensure that they will not come to harm.”

Cullen held her gaze, and returned one of unwavering stone. He would not be softened by a mage’s distress, regardless of how lovely she was. Bethany Hawke was an apostate, and he was taking her into custody. She would be part of the Circle, where all mages belonged.

“If you cooperate,” he told her, “there will be no reason to see your family punished for harboring an apostate. Should there be a struggle, however, then Knight-Commander Meredith might disregard the reports of your sister being of help to Kirkwall, rather than a burden, and have your family formally charged and jailed.”

“Then I give myself over to you, Ser Cullen,” Bethany said softly. “I’ll need a moment to dress, if I may?”

Cullen nodded and forced himself to not watch her walk away. He ignored her mother’s sobs and waited patiently for Bethany to change her clothes.  She emerged wearing a deep blue robe that brought out the warmth of her eyes, and the grey sash wrapped around her slender waist matched the cloak draped over her shoulders.

As Bethany closed the distance between her and her distraught mother, Cullen gently took the pack she held in her hand.

“Your personal belongings must remain here, Bethany,” he stated sternly but with intentional kindness. He needed to ensure that she came along with him quietly. “Once in the Circle, you cannot think on what was. Your life is to begin anew.”

Bethany released her satchel and embraced Leandra tightly. “Please, mother,” she whispered, fighting back tears of her own. “I will be alright. Ser Cullen seems a decent man, for a Templar. I’m sure he’ll not let any harm come to me.” She pulled away from her mother’s arms and took a deep breath, rising to her full height and holding her head high. “Tell Marian she’s not to blame. I know she did all she could to prevent this, but it was inevitable. Tell her that I approached Ser Cullen myself, and to take care of herself.”

Cullen and his new charge took a few steps toward the door when Bethany stopped and glanced over her shoulder to Leandra. 

“Goodbye, mother.”

Leandra Hawke dropped to her knees as Bethany and Cullen exited the hovel, her anguished cries muffled by the closing door. Cullen walked ahead, and the four Templars boxed Bethany in as she followed behind him. After a silent ferry ride across the harbor, under the cover of darkness, Bethany Hawke entered the Kirkwall Circle.

Cullen dismissed the others and escorted the nervous mage to her new quarters. He unlocked the ancient door of oak and iron, and the lone candle in his hand illuminated a modest chamber with a simple cot, a wash stand, and a wardrobe. Bethany followed him inside, and once he set the candle on the wash stand and turned to leave, she stepped in front of him, barring his exit.

“Thank you,” she said softly, lifting back her hood and peering at him with misty eyes. “You saw to this personally when you didn’t have to. I won’t forget this kindness, Ser Cullen.”

Cullen stood in silence, unsure of how to respond. This was the first time that he had been thanked by a mage for bringing them to the Circle. Why would she be grateful for taking her away from a life of freedom? Surely she was beginning to devise a plan to escape, perhaps try to enthrall him to aid her. Bethany Hawke may have assisted him in the past, but he would be wary of her in the future.

“It was nothing,” he replied curtly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I was doing my duty.” He sidestepped her and reached for the door. “Mornings start at dawn with prayers in the chapel,” he said before leaving. “Rest well tonight. Your life is soon to change, forever.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen realises that he has doubts about the Order, and it's unsettling. He has a moment of bonding with Bethany, and is inevitably conflicted.

It took all of Cullen’s will to refrain from headbutting Marian Hawke in her paint-streaked nose. For the last thirty minutes he had tolerated her belittling words and her threats, and she had been shouting only inches away from his face. He was no stranger to insult or injury, but when she insulted his hair, he refused to take any more of her berating.

“For the last time, Hawke,” he growled through clenched teeth, “your sister is just fine. If I tell you any more, I could lose my position. And I will  _ not _ be demoted for you.”

“If you  _ don’t _ tell me more, you’ll lose your balls,” Marian Hawke hissed, and with a quick flick of her wrist, Cullen felt the sharp end of her dagger press uncomfortably close to his groin.

“Nooooo, Hawke!” Isabela exclaimed, grabbing the warrior’s arm. The sultry Rivaini glanced at Cullen though a thick fringe of dark lashes. “Don’t mar his jewels,” she purred, giving him a sensual wink. “I bet they’re breathtaking.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered in irritation, rolling his eyes and covering his groin while taking a step back from Hawke’s blade. “Fine. Bethany was Harrowed a week after she arrived, and she completed it extremely quickly. She shares well and plays nicely with the other mages. Now go away.”

He saw Hawke clench her hand and noticed her weight shifting. When she threw the punch at his face, he was ready. He caught her fist within his palm, and held it firmly as he stared her down.

“Bethany is fine. She is Harrowed and is settling in. Now leave, before I get angry.”

Hawke glared at him murderously for a moment longer before withdrawing. “If anything happens to her while she’s in your care, Knight-Captain, I will end you,” she spat before turning on her heel and marching off angrily. Cullen could see now why Bethany was soft-spoken and cooperative; having a sister like Marian Hawke would make having a fun personality painful.

Thinking about it, he realized that he didn’t know what kind of personality Bethany really had. Life in the Circle was very structured, and these days, every move a mage made was watched. One had to be cooperative and soft-spoken to stay unnoticed; getting the wrong Templar’s attention was never good. 

Refusing to ruminate over why Knight-Commander Meredith had increased the number of eyes watching their charges, Cullen left the heat of the Gallows courtyard and entered the cool shade of the Circle tower. The exchange with Hawke left him agitated, and he needed to walk it off. 

* * *

 

Patrolling the halls of the tower was one of the more calming of Cullen’s duties. The mages were either in their chambers or in training, so he was usually alone throughout his strolls. This gave him time to clear his head and de-stress. Usually.

The subtle scent of orange blossoms danced along his senses before his eyes landed on her as he turned the corner. Bethany was reading a tome as she walked, not watching where she was going. Cullen was enraptured by the way her dark hair escaped the confines of her braid and fell forward, framing her beautiful face, that he neglected to step aside. The Templar and the mage collided in the empty hall, their short cries of surprise travelling the length of the corridor.

“I’m so sorry, Ser Cullen,” Bethany gasped. Wide-eyed and blushing, she dropped to the floor to retrieve her book.

“The fault is mine, Enchanter,” Cullen replied, lowering himself onto a knee. He reached for Bethany’s book, but a shining object beneath the opened tome caught his attention. She tried to gather it discreetly, but he grasped it first.

He lifted the brass ring by the worn leather cord it was tethered to. His brow creased as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn’t feel any magic emanating from the bauble, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t enchanted.

“It’s not magical,” Bethany blurted. “I’m sure that’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it?”

Cullen tried to focus on the object, honing his senses on the presence of magic. He still didn’t feel any, yet he also still wasn’t convinced.

“Enchanter, you know that keepsakes from home are prohibited,” he chastised. “Especially items that could be enchanted by blood magic.”

“There  _ is _ blood on it,” she admitted quietly, “but no enchantment. It belonged to my twin brother. An ogre killed him as we fled Lothering, and I removed it from his mauled hand. It’s all I have left of him.”

Cullen considered the brass ring dangling from his grasp. He had forgotten that the Hawke family, not unlike himself, suffered during the Blight. Thoughts of home flashed through his mind, quickly turning to images of the demons under Uldred’s control, and so many, many corpses.

He gently placed the ring in Bethany’s open palm, and clasped her fingers closed around it. “I lost my parents to the Blight,” he murmured. “I have my father’s chess set safely tucked away. It’s all I have, as well.”

“I’m sorry,” Bethany said softly, placing her hand over his, “for your loss.” Cullen was mesmerized by the warmth of her touch and sincerity in her eyes, and he felt the overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and just hold her. The breathlessness from his heart skipping a beat snapped his attention away from his desires and back into reality. He averted his eyes and released her hands. Bethany seemed confused for a moment, and she opened her fist.

“I’d never have thought that a single item could ever hold so much meaning,” she continued. “But it seems to carry more now that I’m without my family.”

“I’m not sure which could be worse,” Cullen said. “Losing your family while you’re young and knowing only Circle life, or the constant fear of being caught as an apostate but having a family to love.” He glimpsed a tear fall onto the beige stone floor before Bethany turned away and shuffled back to sit against the wall.

“It hurts,” she said in a barely audible whisper. “There are a few kind people here, but I miss my mother and my sister so much that I feel broken and incomplete.”

Cullen couldn’t really relate to her heartache. He missed his siblings, but he’d never been torn up about it. Mia sent him letters regularly, so he always knew how everyone was doing. What would it feel like to be so close to your family that your world would come crashing down should you be separated? 

His brow furrowed in confusion. Would the world end if a mage kept in touch with their loved ones? How would Bethany knowing that her family is well hurt anyone or anything? She seemed a decent woman. 

“Your sister was here today,” Cullen admitted. “I told her that you were doing well, but she still had a few choice words - and gestures - for me. She’s worried about you.”

The gratitude that graced her lovely face was enough to warm even the coldest of hearts. Her eyes widened and she stared at Cullen for a moment before her inviting lips stretched into a beaming smile.

“That’s Marian for you,” she chuckled. “I imagine she threatened you, too. Was it castration? Or amputation? Those are her favorites to use.”

“It was the former,” Cullen snorted. “She was very quick with her dagger, I must admit. I’ll be more prepared next time. A codpiece, perhaps.”

“Next time?” Bethany asked. “You’ll speak with her again?”

“Inevitably,” Cullen sighed. “Aside from desperately wanting to know of your well-being, I believe that your sister enjoys tormenting me. I’ll see her again, without question.”

“Please, Ser Cullen, tell her that I am getting by, and I miss her and mother terribly. I even miss Uncle Gamlen’s complaining.” She looked up at his with the same pleading eyes she had when he took her from her home. He’d seen many mages beg, some for their lives, but Bethany’s pain sent a spear through his own gut. Was this her spell? Was he becoming enthralled? He bit down on his tongue, the sharp stab of his teeth centering his focus. He would not let her have him. 

“I’m sorry, Enchanter,” he stated, peering down at her with narrowed eyes and steeled resolve, “but you know that being in contact with your family is prohibited. She knows that you are well, and that is where the information ends.” 

He rose to his feet and ignored the hurt and confusion on her pretty face. “Good day, Enchanter,” he said methodically before continuing down the corridor with determination in his steps. 

He would not let her have him.

* * *

 

Marian Hawke hadn’t stepped foot in the Gallows since their last interaction. Not that Cullen was aware of, anyway. He was thankful that he didn’t have to face her interrogation again, and the tip of her dagger. He was also grateful that he wasn’t put in the position of having to choose whether or not to relay Bethany’s message. The rules were clear, but lately he had begun to question their meaning. 

He lifted his head and peered up at the face of Andraste, whose statue he was kneeling before in the chapel. He looked to the Maker’s Bride for guidance when his judgement was clouded. His faith gave him courage and strength, and provided clarity.

Cullen thought he was alone in the chapel at this late hour, but a melodious voice from the pew behind him proved that he wasn’t.

“ _ I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear the scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence _ .”

Cullen turned in his seat and was surprised to see not another Templar behind him, but a mage.

“Senior Enchanter Tobrius, isn’t it late for a man of your age to be up and about?” Cullen jested. Tobrius had been at the Kirkwall Circle for nearly fifty years - since his childhood - and was liked by many. Cullen never fully trusted a mage, but he’d come to enjoy speaking with the elderly man. Tobrius was kind, interesting and well-read, and he’d seen much in his lifetime at the Gallows.

The old man grinned and glanced around worriedly. “I have a date with a lady,” he whispered and winked, “but don’t tell any of Templars if you see one around. The dungeon tends to dampen the flames of romance.”    

“Your secret is safe with me,” Cullen chuckled. “Those nasty Templars sure know how to ruin a mood!”

The mage nodded and leaned forward, resting his arm over the back of the pew. “Indulge an old man, Ser Cullen. I can tell that something isn’t sitting right with you. Can I help?”

Cullen was taken aback momentarily. Have his doubts been that evident? If the Senior Enchanter noticed, surely it was noticeable to some in the Order as well.

“Am I that transparent?” Cullen asked anxiously. Templars who second-guessed anything were not looked upon kindly at the Gallows.

“No, I’m just old enough to see when someone’s spirit is floundering,” Tobrius replied, “and I’m concerned for you.” 

“It’s just…” Cullen sighed wearily. “I find myself having doubts lately, about many things. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Tobrius nodded gently but remained silent, allowing Cullen to continue. Cullen had never confessed to anyone before, nor had he ever had doubts. Not about the Order. His time at the Ferelden Circle taught him to trust in his faith and his training, for they will save your life. He believed he was doing the Maker’s will, called to serve as protector of the faithful. But were mages not among Andraste’s faithful, as well? 

“If magic exists to serve man, then why do we imprison those who can wield it?” Cullen asked. “I feel more like a jailor than a protector.”

The old mage nodded knowingly. “There was a time, not so long ago, that the Order’s rules were more akin to guidelines. They were to be interpreted to best suit the situation. A Templar once allowed a mage to leave the Circle. When asked why, he said simply ‘Rule is not served by caging the best of us’. His name was Ser Maurevar Carver, and he served here for many years before his death.”

This astounded Cullen. Never had he known of a Templar  _ allowing _ a mage to go free. Mages - apostates - escape. They run and they hide. They don’t just  _ leave _ the Circle. And Templars certainly don’t assist them in breaking away from the tower.

“He what?” Cullen asked incredulously. “He let a mage leave? Was it blood magic? Was he enthralled?”

Tobrius smiled and chuckled softly. “No, Ser Cullen, it wasn’t blood magic and Ser Maurevar was not a thrall. He was a good man - fair and wise. He believed in helping mages, and protecting them, not presiding over them like a lord. He merely let his dear friend leave the Circle to live a life of love and happiness with the woman of his dreams.” Then the mage met Cullen’s eyes, and held his gaze.

“Ser Maurevar trusted his friend, and knew him to be of great honor and strength. That mage was indeed the best of us, and his name was Malcolm Hawke.”

* * *

Sweat slicked Cullen’s flesh as he trained beneath the unforgiving afternoon sun. His hair stuck to his head like a helmet of drenched curls, and the dust kicked up by his footwork settled on his skin, marbling his golden tan.

He’d taken to training harder as a means of centering his focus, quelling the growing and lingering doubts conjured by his conscience. Tobrius’ words had stayed with him, night and day. If rules could have once been situationally interpreted, why now were they the singular foundation of the Order? It bothered him to think that his superiors had the power to enforce their prejudices and biases by claiming them regulation, and failure to comply meant weakening the institution. Life is lived in shades of grey, shouldn’t the Templar use their own sound judgement when it comes to their duties?

Cullen followed rules, but he abhorred those who hid behind them. Cowards act immorally and then tout policy and procedure. Structure was the stone foundation on which the Order sits, but strength comes from being able to bend without breaking.

Irritation and anxiety powered his strikes against the training mannequin, his sword slicing through the worn leather and his shield bashing the straw into submission. He lunged and then spun on the balls of his feet, more graceful in combat than on a dance floor. He twisted his hand around the hilt of his sword, and immaculately impaled the dummy behind him. Heaving for breath, his chest rose and fell like the tide reaching for shore. A grin stretched across his sunburned lips as he admired his handiwork. Combat training was definitely the best outlet for the weight of his burdens.

As Cullen pulled his blade from the dummy’s leather, he heard a commotion flowing through the Circle. The noise was getting louder, meaning whatever was causing the disturbance was getting nearer. Before he could leave the training ring, Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino exited the tower, followed by a squad of mages and Templars.

“Knight-Commander,” Cullen barked as he hastily stood at attention. He kept his eyes facing forward, but he had great peripheral vision. Bethany, standing behind Orsino, was peering at him like he was something foreign to her. He suddenly felt naked under her gaze, and wished he had redressed in his tunic before the crowd had reached him.

“At ease, Knight Captain,” Meredith ordered. “The Qunari have begun attacking the city. That fool Dumar had to have seen this coming, but did nothing. Forward lines have already been deployed to bolster the City Guard, and we are the next to leave.”

Cullen wasn’t surprised by the news. There had been much talk of the Viscount ignoring the obvious signs of a Qunari takeover, but according to the Knight-Commander, even her advice was rejected. It was just a matter of time before the brutes showed their true intentions.

“Understood, Knight-Commander,” Cullen replied. “My squad and I-”

“-are to remain here,” Meredith interrupted. “I need someone I can trust to oversee the mages that remain behind also. I won’t allow anyone to use this as a distraction for escape.”

“Escape? Are we prisoners?” Orsino snapped. “We volunteered to fight alongside the Templars, that should be evidence of our intention.”

“A mage’s intention is meaningless,” Meredith spat. “Actions are what prove you ally or enemy. We shall see how the mages act in battle, and how many will need to be hunted down when it’s over.”

Orsino marched off in a flurry of robes and muttered expletives. Before Bethany followed, she glanced at Cullen worriedly and blinked slowly, a silent acknowledgement of a likely goodbye. Qunari were formidable fighters, and while Bethany had combat experience, Cullen could see apprehension in her eyes. He snapped his gaze forward, trying to keep from worrying.

Cullen saluted his Meredith. “As you say, Knight-Commander.” He tried to ignore the anger at being ordered to stay behind, but Meredith had a valid point. This could be exactly the distraction some mages needed to attempt an escape. He would do his duty.

* * *

 

The mages not battling the Qunari didn’t try to escape. They did as anyone else would do - pray for their comrades and offer assistance. Cullen’s command of the Gallows was uneventful. While his brothers and sisters were in the city, Cullen ordered the healers prepare for wounded and casualties. He stood at the pier, watching the smoke rise from Kirkwall’s destruction and waiting for it all to be over.

Night had fallen before he noticed any sign of Templars or mages returning to the Gallows. Cullen stared at the lanterns affixed to the sterns of the ferries, glowing softly over the calm harbor waters. 

The first boat to arrive was nearly empty. The disembarking figures limped toward him, and in the dim torchlight he could see a mage using their staff as a crutch. A soft smile formed on his lips when he saw clearly that it was Bethany approaching. As she neared, he was prepared to admit his relief at her safe return, but she hobbled by without even glancing at him. It was then that he noticed that the three limping Templars with her were actually her escort. Unwilling to seem interested in the mages’ well-being in the presence of these guards, Cullen ignored Bethany’s slight and addressed the Templars. All three acknowledged him, but only one stayed to relay information. 

As more boats arrived bearing the wounded and dead, Cullen tried to stay present in the moment, and not think about Bethany. His mind kept drifting to her wellness. Once all that returned were being attended, Cullen retreated to the tower to ease his mind and find out how Bethany was.

He rounded the corner to Bethany’s quarters and stopped abruptly. A guard had been posted to her door. It was rare that a mage be under confinement unless they were in the cells. Cullen needed to find out what was going on. Discreetly.

“You there,” Cullen called to the guard as he approached. “I’m taking notes for the records. How fares this mage?”

The Templar looked through the barred window of Bethany’s door. “Sleepin’. Healer came an’ tended to ‘er, said she’ll be fine.”

Cullen’s quill scratched the paper he pilfered from a desk in an open room nearby. “And what did she do that she’d under guard?” he asked, glancing up from his notes.

The man before him shrugged. “Not sure. All I know is the moment the Knight-Commander named this mage’s sister the Champion of Kirkwall for killin’ that Qunari leader one-on-one, she turned around and ordered that this mage be watched closely. 

Cullen wrote his notes and nodded his thanks before continuing along the hallway. Why would Meredith keep Bethany under guard after Marian became Champion? Cullen admitted that the Knight-Commander had been acting oddly as of late - anxious and cold. She was starting to seem paranoid about everything, ordering double the Templars present around the mages and scheduling additional patrols of the tower. Could it all be connected?  Something foul was festering at the Kirkwall Circle, and that left him with a familiar sense of dread.

This was starting to feel like the broken Ferelden Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 <3 Love is my motivation!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A threat to Bethany's life is the catalyst Cullen needs to take the right steps. He questions his superior, his orders, and his strength.

Gate duty under the searing sun was one of Cullen’s least favorite postings. His flesh roasted beneath his polished armor, regardless of how many layers of lining he wore beneath the silver. Wiping the sweat from his brow for the uncountable time that shift, Cullen cursed under his breath at the inescapable heat. But he was still faring better than his partner.

Samson’s reddened face was glistening and sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead. His hand twitched at his wrist and he swayed slightly as he stood. Meredith’s response to Samson’s reinstatement was to limit his lyrium rations, deny him full rest, and assign him to the most gruelling posts. It was petty and beneath a leader, and bolstered Cullen’s hunch that there was something very wrong with the Knight-Commander.

The formal cadence of a Templar retinue marching from the offices drew Cullen’s attention to the courtyard. Meredith, wielding the golden lyrium-infused branding iron, was at the head of the group. Both he and Samson snapped to attention as the unpredictable woman approached.

“Knight-Commander,” Cullen greeted her stiffly. Meredith’s icy blue eyes flitted over his face, making him uncomfortable. “I was unaware that someone would be undergoing the Rite,” he continued, glancing at the tool in her hand. “I apologize for missing your order. It will not happen again.”

“I sent no order,” Meredith responded coolly, her slithering tone caused Cullen’s skin to crawl. “This had just been decided.”

Cullen gestured for another to take his post before turning on his heel and falling into step slightly behind his superior as she proceeded into the Circle tower. 

“No signs of possession or weakness have been reported, Knight-Commander,” he stated as they walked the stone hall toward the Harrowing Chamber. “Why is the Rite is being administered?”

Meredith stopped abruptly and turned to Cullen, staring through him with her sharp gaze.

“My second-in-command can’t see what’s been going on? Disappointing,” she chastised. “We are losing our grip on the people of this city,” she informed him. “A mage sympathizer like Marian Hawke should  _ never _ have been given the opportunity to become Champion.” The name “Marian Hawke” was uttered with disgust, like the words themselves were bitter and foul to the tongue. 

Meredith’s lip twitched before curling into a sneer. “That woman is a menace and should have been arrested the moment it was clear that she was harboring an apostate. Her choice was a punishable offence, and the people of Kirkwall will learn that no one is above the law. Not even the Champion”. 

Cullen blinked in disbelief. It had been the Knight-Commander herself who ordered that Hawke’s “offences” be overlooked for as long as the warrior was helping the city. Meredith had been content in letting Hawke, rather than Templars, be the target of criminals and maleficarum. Cullen’s pulse quickened. His suspicions were confirmed. Meredith was mad. His breath hitched in fear of who her target might be.

“So the mage that you are planning on making Tranquil is-” he began.

“Bethany Hawke,” Meredith interrupted, almost cheerfully. Her tone was steely, but held a lilt of anticipation. The Knight-Commander lifted her chin and took a step toward Cullen, as if to dare him into defiance.

Cullen glanced at the other Templars of her guard. Each were loyal to her and would do her bidding, regardless of the danger or impropriety involved. He was outnumbered, and couldn’t stop Meredith from performing the Rite on a well-trained and Harrowed mage. Not without losing his own head. 

Reluctantly, Cullen stepped back and saluted his superior.

“Maker be with you, Knight-Commander,” he said, bowing his head slightly. Meredith looked down her nose at him while wearing a triumphant smirk.

“You as well, Knight-Captain,” she replied. The icy daggers of her stare chilled his bones. She lingered a moment before gesturing to the others and continuing on to the Harrowing chamber. The footfalls of a dozen armor-clad feet echoed off the stone walls as they marched through the corridor sounded like death’s herald. Once they rounded the corner, he released his held breath with a fierce exhale and returned to his post.

“Did I hear her right?” Samson asked as Cullen drew near. “She’s making Senior Enchanter Bethany tranquil?”

Cullen stared ahead, unfocused. He nodded slowly, but remained silent. The very idea of Bethany being a Tranquil turned his stomach. He’d turned a blind eye to the other “punishments” doled out over the years at Meredith’s command, but this time was different. This time, it seemed much more… wrong. 

“She makes a mockery of the Order!” Samson hissed. “Violating our codes and her position of power- it’s clear that she’s lost her mind. We can’t let her make a Harrowed mage tranquil!”

Samson’s words resonated. Meredith Stannard was a viper within the Order, and her venom was poisoning Cullen’s brethren. Now they were going to hurt Bethany.

Mentally running scenario after scenario, Cullen tried to settle on a strategy. He could seek back-up, but they’d never reach the Harrowing chamber in time. He could chase after Meredith on his own and try to reason with her, but she would have him hanged for insubordination  _ after _ making Bethany tranquil. Perhaps he could raise the alarm hoping that Meredith would stop the Rite and investigate, and he could gather support during the commotion?

His eyes widened in realization. Yes. That could work. He’d  _ make _ it work.

“Samson,” he barked, his partner quickly giving his attention. “When you hear the alarm,  _ inconspicuously _ rally as many as you can who would hold a sword to the Knight-Commander.”

Samson raised a brow before sighing with relief. “We’re really going after her? Thank the Maker.”

Cullen scanned the courtyard in search of potential sympathizers, but he found something more, both unexpected and unwelcome.  His stomach dropped as his gaze landed on Marian Hawke. The warrior was weaving through the crowd near the merchant’s stall and making her way toward him. He needed to run. Now. The alarm had to be sounded before Meredith reached Bethany and before Hawke reached him.

He’d barely taken a step before fate took over. From the corner of his eye, he saw a blinding magenta light careen into the heavens above Kirkwall. Everyone in the courtyard stilled, including the Champion. The beam grew in both size and intensity before disappearing with a dizzying flash. A moment later, a sonic wave blasted his ears as the deafening rumble of the explosion reached the Gallows. A solemn and eerie silence followed as shock enveloped one and all. Smoke rose over the city, carrying screams and cries within its plume.

“What in Andraste’s name was that?” Samson muttered in disbelief. 

“I’ve no clue,” Cullen replied, “but thank the Maker for it.” He clasped Samson’s shoulder firmly. “We’ve no time to look into this. Leave it for the others and may the Maker forgive us. Now, go!”

Samson nodded in acknowledgement and sprinted off, his boots stirring up dust with each step. Cullen decided to head to the Harrowing chamber on his own, and prayed that Samson would arrive quickly.

He climbed the stairs to the tower two at a time, and darted down the long corridor. As he was turning the first corner, he collided with Meredith and her retinue. Seems that they chose to investigate after all; hopefully before destroying the bright and beautiful young mage. He needed to think fast.

“Knight-Commander,” he huffed, pretending to be winded. “An explosion… in the city… big…” He winced and bent at the waist, placing his hands on his thighs. “Lots of smoke, and…”

“I heard it, Knight-Captain,” Meredith spat, turning her nose up like he were a simpleton. “Begin a lockdown,” she ordered. “There will undoubtedly be mages looking to use whatever happened for escape.” She peered at Cullen contemptuously. “And Knight-Captain, increase your stamina training,” she scoffed. “You can’t catch a mage if you can’t keep up.”     

“Understood,” Cullen replied, still breathing heavily. “Thank the Maker you’re here to keep order.”

“Yes, well,” Meredith sniffed. She strode to the head of the group and waved her arm, gesturing for them to follow. 

Grateful that his ploy was bought, Cullen straightened and continued on to the Harrowing chamber, praying that he wasn’t too late.

* * *

 

The heavy oaken doors of the Harrowing chamber were unguarded. Without losing a stride, Cullen pushed them open like a battering ram. The sight before him was one that would be etched into his memory forever.

Shackled and chained to the pedestal in the center of the room, Bethany was slumped over, unconscious. Blood trickled from her nose and lip, and bruising was already apparent on her beautiful face. Her robes were tattered and torn from the vicious treatment, and her feet were bare. Cullen tried to make out whether or not the brand was seared into her flesh, but the sheer amount of trauma to her face made it impossible. 

Bile crept up Cullen’s throat as his stomach turned in disgust of his brethren’s actions. Tranquility was a fate worse than death, he’d been told. Bethany was a mage, but she didn’t deserve this. Uldred and his followers at Kinloch Hold deserved the Brand. Maleficarum deserved the Brand. But not the kind and thoughtful Bethany Hawke. 

“Step no further, Knight-Captain,” a rumbling voice ordered from a darkened corner of the chamber.

Cullen’s lip curled as he stared into the shadows. “This is wrong,” he growled, “and you know it. I order you to free the Senior Enchanter!”

“Our orders come directly from the Knight-Commander,” another Templar added, stepping into the light with his sword drawn. “And she said to take out anyone that tried to interfere.”

Cullen unsheathed his blade, and cursed himself for not wearing his shield. “Stand down,” he ordered. “I’ll not say it again.” 

The first Templar swung his sword so forcefully that it audibly sliced the air. Cullen easily sidestepped the wide arc of the attack. He blocked the lunging slash of the second man, and the sharp clash of steel blades echoed throughout the chamber.

“I’ll not let you harm another innocent!” Cullen snarled, as he backpedalled and freed a shield from its bracing along the wall. He’d barely shoved his arm into the strapping when a blade came at his head. He managed to lift his shield arm in time to deflect the brunt of the blow, but a sharp sting in his lip was evidence that his luck was thin.

He couldn’t let this fight carry on. The longer it dragged out, the more time Meredith and the others would have to return. He dove aside and rolled to his feet, putting as much space between himself and his opponents as possible. Readjusting the shield on his arm and his grip on his sword, he focused his will and charged.

Sword and shield worked in tandem, like dancers gliding across the floor. In perfect synchronization, Cullen blocked and pushed while slicing and piercing. The first of his brothers fell from a well-placed stab under the chin so forceful, the blade exited his skull and lifted the helmet from his head. 

Rushed footsteps from behind alerted Cullen to the second Templar’s approach. In a single fluid and blood-spraying motion, he pulled his blade from his brethren’s face, spun his grip on the hilt and thrust backward. The sword fell as the weight of the impaled Templar pulled it from his palm.

Heaving for breath, Cullen turned and withdrew his steel, wiping the blood before sheathing it.

“Forgive me, brothers,” he muttered, “but you have strayed too far.”

Hastening to Bethany’s side, he gently placed his shaking fingers to the side of her long, graceful neck. Her weak pulse spurred his to racing- she was alive. With deliberate gentleness, he brushed back her dark hair and sighed with relief at the absence of the sun-brand on her forehead.

The aura of her magic, normally strong and resonant, was undetectable. How many times did they smite her? Cullen shook his head as he unlocked her shackles. One smite was enough to render a mage immobile and disoriented, multiple could cause coma, or death.   

“Maker,” he rasped breathlessly as Bethany fell into his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, and when she recognized him, she struggled to lift her hand. Her fingers ghosted over his jaw, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Hero,” she whispered before once again slipping into unconsciousness. As her hand fell away, Cullen heard the quick footfalls of people approaching the chamber. With Bethany still in his arms, he rose to his feet and gently threw her over his shoulder. Supporting her with his shield arm, he drew his sword and took a deep breath. If today was to be his last, at least he would die doing his duty- protecting his innocent charge.

The doors swung open and Samson charged inside, ready for battle. Behind him were nearly a dozen Templars loyal to the Order’s honor. Samson, expecting a fight but finding only aftermath, stared at Cullen incredulously.

Then he glanced at the corpses on the blood-slicked floor. “Only two? You got lucky,” Samson said. “Go on,” he continued, sheathing his sword. “The Knight-Commander is still in the courtyard. We’ll handle this.”

Cullen nodded respectfully. “You’re a good man, Raleigh Samson,” he said as he approached the doors. “Maker watch over you.” He addressed the men and women with him. “Maker watch over you all.”

* * *

 

Cullen unlocked the door to the only room that was remotely safe for her to hide in- his quarters. He set her down gently atop his bed, and brought his pitcher and basin to his nightstand. Reaching for a clean tunic from the chest at the foot of the bed, he began tearing the beige linen into strips and setting them inside the brass tub.

Squeezing out the excess water, he cautiously cleaned the wounds around Bethany’s eyes and cheekbones. As he brought the cloth to her lips, he couldn’t help noticing how perfectly shaped and soft they looked, even when cut and swollen. Although she was battered and bruised, she was suddenly and inexplicably the most beautiful being that Cullen had ever seen. His fingers brushed over the inviting dip of her cupid’s bow, and he sat for a moment, staring at the mouth of a woman who, although unconscious, was still singing a Siren’s song.

Cullen leaned forward, lowering his face to nearly a hair’s width above hers. He could feel her aura on his lips, tingling and warm. She was a breath away. All he had to do press on.

But the gravity of the situation flooded Cullen’s mind, snapping him back to his senses. He jolted up, embarrassed and frustrated. How could he have thought that it would be appropriate to  _ kiss _ her? She was unconscious, she was his charge, and she was a  _ mage _ . 

Blessed be the Maker for reminding him of the chaos outside, and saving him from making a grave mistake. Cullen placed the linen strips next to the basin, and filled a goblet with water before moving from the bed. 

Walking past his mirror, his own injuries caught his attention. If he went outside looking as though he’d been in battle  _ inside _ , suspicion would fall on him immediately. Grabbing linen for himself, he cleaned his face as best he could and donned his helmet. He took his own shield from his weapon rack and exited his room, locking the door behind him. Bethany would be safe, for now, but Maker help him if he knew how to keep it that way.

* * *

 

“I thought we were to arrest the Champion,” Cullen stated with confusion as he stared at Meredith. “I witnessed Orsino’s death by her hand. Hawke is no threat to us.”

“She fought with them, and now she will die like them,” the Knight-Commander growled. 

When Meredith commanded him to lead an execution party into the Circle tower, he was torn. By following orders, he wouldn’t draw attention to himself, and therefore, Meredith would not be suspicious of him. But doing the right thing- disobeying, meant an end to him and the mages.

Cullen followed his orders, and lead the others inside. He chose to fight only those who resorted to blood magic, but that did nothing to assuage his anger at himself. Had he have stopped Meredith earlier, the Annulment might have been avoided.  When his unit, fearful of the creature Orsino became through blood magic, retreated against his order, Cullen finally saw for himself the cowardice that was the Kirkwall Templar. 

Now he stood in the courtyard, rallying the courage to do what needed to be done. Meredith was about to give the execution order when Cullen, tired of thinking, unsheathed his sword and trained it to her neck.

“No, she will not,” Cullen replied cooly. “Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, I hereby relieve you of your duty.”

Meredith scowled, her eye twitched murderously. “You would turn on me?” she asked, obviously offended. “My most trusted officer? You betray me and the Order! You side with the enemy!” She looked around wildly and drew her blade, which was unlike anything Cullen had ever seen.

It glowed an eerie, ominous red, and it...hummed. Like a ringing in his ears, or a swarm of angry bees. 

“You will all die for your treachery!” she howled. The crazed Knight-Commander held the hilt of her sword to her forehead, and screeched out a prayer to the Maker.  Cullen’s jaw dropped as Meredith herself began glowing with the same red aura, and exhibiting powers unheard of for a Templar.

She flew the thirty feet from the ground to the landing where the bronze statues stood watch over the Gallows. Moments later, the ground thundered as the inanimate guardians gained life and jumped down from their foundations.

For the second time that day, Cullen took up arms against his brothers and sisters. As Hawke and her mages focused on stopping Meredith, Cullen was crossing blades with the Knight-Commander’s followers. This wasn’t the first time he and Hawke fought side-by-side, but it was his first chance to see her entire group in action.

Hawke’s elven friend, Fenris, was unstoppable in battle. Cullen had never seen such speed and ferocity, nor such hypnotically glowing marks on anyone’s skin. Guard-Captain Aveline was an exceptional vanguard, holding off two or three highly trained Templars with ease. The dwarf, Varric, was raining projectiles into the fray with lethal efficiency, riddling the rampaging statues with bolts that exploded or pinned them still. And the pirate woman was literally dazzling. It was nearly impossible to not be distracted by the gleaming metal of her daggers as they whirled from victim to victim. Now Cullen understood why Hawke and her crew were so successful at survival. They were extremely efficient, and possibly insane.

The bronze machinations finally fell, leaving only flesh and blood to fight. Cullen searched the courtyard for allies, and saw that Samson was surrounded. Knowing that the man was weakened from Meredith’s punishment, Cullen rushed to his aid.

“Nice of you to join me,” Samson wheezed, his shield arm barely blocking a strike. 

“You looked lonely” Cullen quipped, earning him a respectful nod and a toothy grin from his old roommate. Raleigh Samson was a good man, a good Templar, and Cullen was glad to have him on the right side.

As the last of the Templars loyal to Meredith either fell or surrendered, an ear-splitting scream pierced the air. Everyone turned to face the middle of the square, where the Knight-Commander was on her knees and engulfed in red flames. 

It was palpable now, the crimson energy that was using Meredith’s body as a forge. Cullen could feel it reaching out to him, ghosting over his flesh and making it crawl. It was lyrium. 

The lyrium blaze contorted Meredith’s flesh and bone into a macabre mannequin, which cooled and hardened into a grisly statue. Meredith Stannard was gone. Cullen was now in charge.

The Gallows fell silent as everyone realized that they had just fought their comrades. Before Cullen addressed his Templars, he sidled up beside Hawke.

“You need to leave,” he warned her quietly. “I will give you this one chance to take your murderous mage and get out of Kirkwall.”

Hawke’s chin jutted out and her eyes flashed, but to Cullen’s relief, she backed down. “Where is my sister? Is she alright? I didn’t see her in the fight...” 

“She’s safe,” Cullen replied. “I will protect her. But I can’t do the same for you if you stay.”

Hawke glanced around uneasily, and sheathed her blade when she saw Templars beginning to gather.

“If anything happens to her, Cullen, I swear on Andraste’s flaming tits that I’ll come back and cut your balls off.”

“Hawke, are you just wanting to get an eyeful?” Cullen queried, snickering at Hawke’s reddening face and clenched teeth.

“I’ll take an eyeful!” came a melodious shout from the shadows. Both Cullen and Hawke rolled their eyes at Isabela’s uncanny sense of hearing whenever genitalia is mentioned.

Marian Hawke exhaled forcefully and extended her arm. “Goodbye, Knight-Commander Cullen.”

Cullen grasped her wrist tightly and smirked. “Take care of yourself, Champion.” 

They broke their hold and turned their opposite directions. Hawke and the others disappeared into the shadows, and Cullen climbed the stairs of the tower to address the remaining Templars.

“A great tragedy befell Kirkwall tonight,” he shouted. “And all of us- Templar and mage alike- suffered losses. I need every able bodied person to head into the city. Help with clearing rubble and finding survivors. Those here that are too injured to help, get to the infirmary. I will go inside and give the remaining mages their orders.”

“But what if they try to escape?” someone piped up. Cullen rested his hands on the hilt of his sword.

“Those who would see harm come to our charges are gone. Many have friends and family in the city, and will wish to help the people of Kirkwall. No one will flee. We will continue to do our jobs as their protectors, not their jailors. Now get moving!”

As the crowd dispersed, Cullen gestured for Samson to approach. He handed the weakened man a sachel. “Take my phials. I need you to go to the city, oversee the rescue mission. Can you do that?”

Samson didn’t wait before reaching into the leather pouch and retrieving a vial of lyrium. He pulled the cork with his teeth and emptied the contents into his mouth, swallowing hard. “I will do what needs to be done, Knight-Captain. Or should I say ‘Knight-Commander’?”

Cullen shook his head. “Not that. Not yet, anyway. I will run things on this side, but I need to get some healing first,” he said, grabbing at his bloodied shoulder. “Tomorrow you will have regular lyrium rations reissued, as well as standard duties and breaks.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Samson replied quietly, his eyes showing his gratitude. As he turned to leave, he looked back at Cullen and chuckled, “Take it easy on your ‘healer’, eh?”

Cullen glared at Samson a moment, and spun around to climb the stairs of the tower. Hopefully he would find Bethany’s condition had improved; he wouldn’t be able to bring her help.

* * *

 

Cullen paused outside of his door, peering down the corridor to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Nervously, he produced his key with a shaking hand and with a deep breath, turned it within the lock.

Bethany was still on his bed, nearly in the same position that he’d left her in. Fearing the worst, he rushed over and grasped her wrist. Her pulse was thready, but thankfully still there. He fought to unbuckle and remove his heavy armor quietly, and once he set it on the floor, he returned to her side.

“Bethany,” he said softly, placing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead. “Can you hear me?” Her eyelids fluttered but she didn’t wake. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she was still too drained of magic, and he reached into the drawer of his nightstand. Uncorking a phial of lyrium, he placed one hand under her head and brought the potion to her lips. He knew that the Templar formula was somewhat different from the mage’s lyrium, but he hoped that they were similar enough to help her strength return.

He poured a few drops into her mouth, and waited. Her breathing began to regulate, which he took as a good sign.

“Bethany,” he said again, pulling the vial back. “It’s Cullen. Can you hear my voice?”

This time her lips stretched into a small smile, and without opening her eyes, she whispered, “Hero.”

Cullen blushed and his entire body flushed with heat. “That I am,” he chuckled. He propped her up with an extra pillow and handed her his lyrium. “I’m afraid this is the only potion that I have.”

“It’s helping,” she whispered. Sipping on the rest of the swirling blue liquid, she said, “She almost did it, Ser. The Knight-Commander. She almost did it.” Her eyes welled with tears, and Cullen considered wrapping his arms around her, comforting her, but cleared his throat and reached for a tunic instead.

“You may want to change out of your robe,” he said, offering her the clean garment. Bethany looked down at her tattered clothes and sighed.

“Fucking heathens,” she cursed. Cullen’s eyes widened at the profanity that leapt from Bethany’s sweet mouth. He’d never heard her utter anything remotely close to the words her sister used regularly. If he were to be honest, he kind of liked it.

“Sorry,” she added, “but this was my favorite robe.” She took the tunic from his hand and shifted on the bed, dangling her legs over the edge. She tried rising to her feet, but her legs gave out beneath her. Before she could fall onto the hard stone, Cullen reacted and caught her in his arms.

“Maybe you should rest a bit longer,” he advised, lowering her onto the mattress. “There’s clean water and bandages on the nightstand, and I have some ointment for a poultice around here somewhere.”

Bethany refused his offer with a wave of her hand. “I won’t need all of that,” she said. Slowly, a pale blue light began forming in her palm. Cullen could feel her magic; its tingling warmth tickled his skin. A surge of panic gripped him and he quickly grasped her wrist.

“No magic,” he warned. “We can’t chance anyone else sensing you.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, extinguishing her flame. “The mundane way it is, then. Have you a mirror?” She doused a bandage as Cullen pulled his small mirror from his wall and held it for her.

“Maker, take me,” she breathed as she saw her reflection. “I don’t think anyone could look more hideous than I do right now.”

“It’s not so bad,” Cullen admitted as he watched her apply ointment to the lacerations above her eye. He lowered his eyes quickly in response to her warm glance. She put some poultice over her eyes and cheeks, and took the mirror from Cullen, placing it on the bed beside her.

Bethany offered Cullen her wrists. “Would you mind wrapping these for me? I’m not very good with my fingers right now.”

“Of course,” he replied, dabbing his fingers into the ointment. Squinting in the dim light, he tried to find the edges of her wounds. “I’m going to need another candle.”

With his free hand, he struck a match and lit the wick of the thick candle next to the lantern. The increased light afforded him a better view of Bethany, and her wounds.

“Andraste’s ass, Ser Cullen!” Bethany exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say that you were injured?” The added light also meant that Bethany could see Cullen better. He had been so preoccupied with Bethany’s wounds that he had forgotten about his own.

“I guess I was more concerned about you,” he replied, giving her a small smile as he bandaged her wrists. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed once more, and grabbed the tunic that Cullen had offered her earlier.

“Get undressed,” Bethany said as she unbuckled her sash, “and let me to tend to you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, most adored reader, for bearing with me during my long-ass breaks from writing! I blame Netflix (Stranger Things, Sense8, and Firefly) for much of my distraction... and the rest of the blame goes to health issues and meds!
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Comments/kudos/love are ALWAYS appreciated <3 <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Bethany cross a line. Life is just too short to worry about rules and consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> The NSFW in this chapter is more Mature than Explicit, but never fear- there will be more Explicit content later on! Because they are just so hot.
> 
> Thank you everyone for not forgetting about me during this time of SLOW-ASS updating! I truly appreciate it <3 <3

Bethany’s tattered robe pooled at her feet like a puddle of velvet filth. Thin scars decorated her skin like expertly drawn strokes of a fine quill, and the elegance with which her lean muscles moved mesmerized Cullen as she pulled the borrowed tunic over her head.

The thin and well-worn fabric bunched at her hips before it cascaded over them and settled halfway down her thighs. The amber glow of the candle flame cast her body in silhouette, unveiling her rounded breasts in shadow while she tied back her hair. Cullen stilled. He dared not breathe nor blink.

His charge turned back to face him, and her brow wrinkled with concern. “Let me help you get undressed,” she offered, reaching for the laces of his tunic. She moved with both the clinical precision of a healer and an indescribable sensuality.

Cullen had never been so intrigued by a woman. The heat of her hand through the thin fabric of his shirt was comforting, and the way she squinted as she worked was simply adorable.

He’d been undressed by women before, but this time was different. They were in his quarters, and the woman was a mage. Two rules that, until now, he’d never broken.

“Thank you,” he uttered when she tossed his tunic to the floor.

“Think you can manage the rest on your own?” she asked with a smirk, glancing at the cords of his trousers. Cullen nodded and Bethany shifted on the bedside, turning her back to him.

After fumbling with the ties, Cullen lifted his hips and shoved his trousers down as far as he could reach. Along with his socks, he pushed the pant legs over his ankles and kicked off his boots. Stark naked, he scrambled for the blanket and some modesty.

Any other time, with any other woman, he would be placing kisses along her slender neck while he slowly moved the oversized collar off her shoulders. As the soft and sensitive flesh of her back was bared, his tongue would dance along her spine, and he’d chuckle when his stubble would scratch and tickle her skin.

But this woman was Bethany Hawke, and she was his charge. He needed to ignore the aching need to run his fingers through the glinting streaks of auburn in her hair. He had to overlook the way that her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The kindness and compassion that was her voice called him to purge his anxiety and confess his sins, but he needed to silence the whispers in his mind telling him to seek absolution in her arms.

Biting his lip, he steeled his nerve. Above all else, he was a Templar. And he was strong. He’d resisted temptation before, and he could do it again. Couldn’t he?

“Alright, Senior Enchanter, I’m ready.”

Bethany shifted on the side of the bed and lifted the lantern from the nightstand. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?” Her smile was sweet and delicate despite nearly undergoing the Rite of Tranquility. She held the light close enough to Cullen’s torso that the heat both stung and soothed.

Cullen watched her inspect his wounds. With pursed lips and furrowed brows, she used a light touch and lingered at his left shoulder.

“This might need stitching since I can’t use magic,” she mumbled to herself. Glancing down at the sizeable gash, he wondered how many other injuries he’d overlooked.

Taking a wrung-out cloth from the pile, Bethany began wiping the dirt, sweat and blood from his torso. “Can’t fix what I can’t see,” she added. The water was bracingly cold but her attention carried a welcoming warmth that allayed the shock.

The shadows of her thick lashes flitted along her cheeks like butterflies, lulling him into contentment. The scant aroma of fresh blossoms still laid beneath the scent of copper in her hair. His lungs cried out to be filled by her fragrance. The lamp highlighted her collarbone with an amber shimmer that begged to be traced with the softest of kisses.

“We should get by with a bandage,” Bethany said, dabbing at his torn flesh. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”

Their eyes met. His glance darted between her amber gaze and inviting lips, and his courage grew while caution waned. Perhaps he was testing her receptiveness, possibly his bravery, or maybe both, but he leaned forward with deliberate slowness. Bethany blushed a deep crimson and tilted her head slightly, closing her eyes and moving in to meet him.

With great gentleness, he cupped her jaw within his palm and nestled his fingers into the dark tresses tucked behind her ear. The soft gasp that escaped her as he tenderly placed his lips to hers, stirred an unbearable need within him. Brushing his fingers through her hair, he found the leather tie she used to keep it back. With a gentle tug, it fell to the floor.

Bringing his other hand up to cradle her beautiful face, his tongue traced the seam of her mouth. A quiet sigh escaped her lips as they opened for his kiss. Jolts of lightning and fire travelled his veins, setting free the passion he’d been denying. He drew in her bottom lip and nipped it with careful playfulness before placing a trail of adoration along her jaw and down her neck.

“This is bad, Cullen,” Bethany whimpered as Cullen bit her shoulder gently, brushing her hair aside. “We could be-”

“Happy?” Cullen interrupted before dancing his tongue along her collarbone. Bethany moaned softly and her head lolled back. “We’ve been fighting this for months,” Cullen rasped, brushing his lips along her exposed throat. “And this is a battle I can fight no longer.”

“Are you surrendering, Ser?” she purred, climbing atop his lap. With only a thin coverlet between them, Cullen’s arousal was impossible to hide.

“Unconditionally,” he breathed, grasping her hips and holding her against him. She bit at her bottom lip and ran her hands over his chest, her nails raking gently through his dusting of hair.

Holding his gaze with lidded eyes, Bethany pulled the borrowed tunic over her head and threw it to the floor. A goddess revealed herself before him, and at that moment Cullen thought himself a mere mortal who was unworthy of her. Blood of fire and passion raced through each and every vein and vessel. His hands explored her exquisite form; her rounded breasts were responsive to his touch, her waist flashed with gooseflesh as his fingertips ghosted down to her shapely hips.

Bethany rose up onto her knees and removed the covers between them. When she lowered herself back down, Cullen’s head swam with stars and song at the perfect pleasure of her readiness. She fell forward, claiming his lips. Slowly, she began taking him inside of her.

The clamping tightness should have been his first clue, but he remained in a state of utter bliss until Bethany hissed sharply.

“Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

She blushed and shook her head. “No-” she began before biting her lip and furrowing her brow, stilling herself along his length. Cullen finally realized what was happening.

“Is this…? Are you…?” he stammered, not quite believing it. Bethany leaned down and kissed him deeply.

“It is, and I _was_ ,” she replied with a smirk. Cullen was dumbfounded. She was giving herself- her maidenhood- to him. Surely he didn’t deserve a gift so precious as that? Why would she choose him?

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Bethany lowered herself further, and they both threw their heads back in pleasure as she accepted him entirely. Cullen sat forward and wrapped his arms around her, his fingers fanned open and caressing the soft skin of her back.

“You were right,” she breathed between kisses. “We could be happy. And life is too short to not take that chance when it presents itself.”

“As you wish,” he mumbled against the crook of her neck. Still within their embrace, he leaned back atop the pile of pillows, bringing his lover with him. Keeping one arm wrapped around her, he lowered the other one to her voluptuous backside, and held her as he lifted his own hips from the bed.

Bethany swallowed his hungry moans, which were made more desperate by the gentle treatment his lover required. Exploring the depths of her mouth with his eager tongue was driving him mad. His body wanted to ravage her, caress her, savor her and be taken by her. Denying his most primal urges was having unexpected consequences. Climax for him was not far off.

Unwilling to see their union end so soon, he withdrew himself from her. “I need a moment,” he chuckled, responding to her irresistible pout.

Smirking, she ran her fingers through his hair and brushed her thumb over his lips. The ecstasy of her slowly sliding back down his length was agony because he needed to remain quiet.

Warmth radiated across his chest with increasing intensity. He grasped Bethany’s hands quickly. “No magic,” he rasped, tensing himself to press his full self into her. Her soft whimpers freed the coiled tension within him. Lifting his hand, he took one of her buxom breasts into his palm and gently squeezed the rosy, pebbled flesh of her pert nipple.

Cullen enjoyed her reaction; her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a throaty moan. A hint of mischief flashed in her eyes, and Cullen’s own nipple suddenly became icy and sensitive under her touch.

“No magic!” he gasped, unaware that his body would respond so strongly. He was about to lose control. Grasping her waist, he pushed himself deeper. The pressure was exquisite and overwhelming.

“Maker,” he moaned, sitting up and taking her into his arms as she rocked her hips slowly. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bethany.”

Wrapping her legs around his back and her arms around his neck, she whispered into his ear, “Say my name again.”

It seemed that this woman already knew how to push all of his buttons. Even those that he didn’t know about. A low growl escaped his lips.

“My darling Bethany,” he uttered before biting down on her shoulder. She responded in kind in the crook of his neck, and whimpered against his flesh as she moved against him.

“I love the way you sound, Cullen,” she breathed, raking her nails along his back.

Unable to fend off his climax any longer, he tightened his embrace and increased the force of his thrusts as pleasure crashed over him like rogue waves in rough seas.

Once his body was spent and his breath was caught, he collapsed back onto the pillows, pulling Bethany with him. Laughing softly, she tried to free herself but failed.

With a quick, single motion, Cullen rolled them both over. Now atop her, he lowered himself to his elbows.

“Would you like to keep doing this?” he asked, studying her reaction. “With me?” He brushed the rebellious strands of dark hair from her forehead, silently praying that she would agree.

“More than I should,” she replied, caressing his shoulders and back. Her ghosting touch sent shivers across his flesh, and he quivered. Bethany reached for the blanket and stretched it open over their entwined bodies.

“This is dangerous, Cullen,” she warned as a sadness crept over her face. “Let’s take it day by day. Agreed?”

Of course Bethany would be a realist. Cullen hadn’t given thought to how dangerous being a mage really was. Even within a Circle, many mages found it hard to expect a future, let alone be excited for one. Bethany was just being logical. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“Agreed,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss. He shifted and settled back on the pillows, pulling her close. The pressure of her head on his shoulder and sensation of her fingers tracing invisible lines across his chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He was grateful for the nerve to finally break a rule.

“Rest well, Bethany Hawke,” he breathed. Swearing a silent oath to himself, he vowed to make each day for her better than the last.

She was, after all, in his care.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

The weeks after the Chantry’s destruction were tumultuous with fear and confusion still running rampant in Kirkwall. The citizens were leaderless without a Viscount, and the mages had no guidance without a First Enchanter. As Knight Commander, Cullen was the only one with the authority to temporarily accept the vacant roles, but he was loathe to lead anyone but the Templars. His only relief from the ceaseless eyes turning to him for answers was found within Bethany’s arms.

Since Orsino’s demise, Bethany and two other Senior Enchanters shared the role of First Enchanter until Cullen could appoint one who would be accepted by both mages and Templars. Bethany was also instrumental in stabilizing relations between the residents of The Gallows. Her unique relationship with the Knight Commander allowed her to garner unprecedented communication between both sides.Tensions slowly began to ease, and restoration efforts within its walls were growing in success by the day.

Accepting that magic has its practical benefits, Cullen asked a number of trustworthy mages to use their gifts to help the physical rebuilding of the tower. Magic would help move the stone into place, while muscle would work the mortar. The new tower would be a first step toward equity. Mage quarters were rebuilt to match Templar quarters in size and comfort, and Templars would be required to undergo additional training to include understanding life from a mage’s point of view.

With the Gallows repairs well underway, Cullen was free to assign more people to assist the citizens of Kirkwall. Bethany ferried to the city every other day to help set up healing clinics, each to be run by mage and Templar teams hand-picked by Cullen. The healing would be free of charge, a charitable gift from the Chantry (well, Cullen believed that the Grand Cleric would offer such a gift, were she were still alive).

Even the Alienage residents were committing to the restoration of the city. Anyone with skills such as tailoring, carpentry, or alchemy offered them without charge, and through exchange or donation, the Alienage itself was getting a much needed renovation and upgrade. For the first time since the explosion, Cullen felt as though there was a light at the end of the long and dark tunnel of destruction and despair.

* * *

 

Promotion to Knight-Commander had come with some perks, and one of the best was larger, more secluded quarters. He’d lie awake every night, waiting for Bethany to slip in as soon as it was safe. Though a kinder relationship between mages and Templars was no longer impossible at the Kirkwall Circle, a blatant display of the love shared between he and Bethany would still endanger them both. Until the day they could be together publicly, they would spend their moments enjoying one another in secret. 

One morning, in the hazy light of dawn, Cullen awoke and propped himself up on his elbow as he turned over in bed and gazed in reverence at the woman asleep beside him. The rising sun shone onto her chestnut hair, highlighting the auburn streaks to look like rivers of ruby. The curve of her shoulder was begging to be kissed, so he leaned over and placed his lips gently to her porcelain flesh.

Bethany groggily rolled over onto her back, and Cullen delighted in her softest of breathy moans as he traced slow trails with his tongue along her graceful neck and up to her jaw.

“Good morning to you, too,” she muttered, angling her head back to accept his laving of kisses. With her eyes still closed from sleep, she caressed Cullen’s back as he shifted atop her and settled in between her toned and slender legs.

“Sleep well?” he asked, moving his hand over the curve of her breast, her nipple pert from the morning chill. Bethany opened her eyes and he was instantly lost within her sultry, sleepy gaze. 

“With you? Always,” she sighed, raising her arms and resting them over her head as her back arched while she stretched. Cullen sat back on his knees and admired her form in all of its naked glory. Every scar, every mark, added to her spellbinding beauty. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said, taking her foot into his hands and setting her heel upon his shoulder, placed soft kisses to the inside of her ankle. “I’d feel terrible if you weren’t well rested in the morning.”

Bethany giggled softly and brought her knees together, squirming within Cullen’s hold. “I’ll be a well-rested icicle if you don’t bring that blanket back, Ser Cullen.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he uttered with a smirk. With a single, swift act, Cullen grabbed the coverlet, spun it over he and Bethany like a cloak, and ducked underneath so her knees would come to rest on his shoulders and her calves dangled over his back.

Bethany gasped when his mouth met her heat. Cullen wrapped his arms around her hips like a vice and clasped his hands together over her mound, keeping her still and close as he savored her taste. She bucked against his tongue, and spurred on by her reaction, Cullen moaned against her wetness, knowing that the vibration drove her mad. As she shook and twitched and whimpered from his ministrations, Cullen beastily devoured her slicked flesh and sent her crashing over the edge.

Her climax nearly resulted in him getting concussed, so he peppered the inside of her quivering thighs with kisses and soft nips until her thrashing subsided. Once she stilled, he emerged from beneath the covers and climbed along her spent body, taking a pert nipple into his mouth and seating himself deeply within her.

Her exquisite heat and profound wetness would be his undoing, for he was already near his peak from taking her over hers. She moved her hips in time with his, placing perfect pressure along his entire length with each slow and deliberate thrust. 

Cullen claimed her lips when control was lost to him. His every muscle tensed and twitched, and she swallowed his moans while accepting his seed deep within her. A prayer of gratitude drifted through his head like a leaf floating atop a gentle creek. How the Maker ever saw him fit for Bethany wasn’t for him to question, but he would be grateful for that gift until the end of his days.

Rolling back onto the bed and utterly spent, he let his eyes dance over her beautiful face. “Marry me?” 

With wide eyes and her mouth agape, Bethany stared at him in silence. Cullen’s heart dropped into his stomach with the sudden worry that he’d ruined everything by the impromptu proposal. He’d imagined asking her in some romantic way, perhaps during a picnic on a rooftop under a starlit sky, or at the lake he used to visit as a child. 

In his heart, he’d known since their first night together all those months ago that she was the one for him. The Maker had sent him a mage to love and cherish. and he would live and die for her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, Chantry rules be damned.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” he stammered, trying to cover his embarrassment. “If you need time to think-”

“Yes,” Bethany whispered. 

“Yes, you’ll be my wife? Or yes, you need time?” His heart was pounding in his throat and it was racing with both fear and anticipation.

“I live for you and would die for you, Cullen. Yes, I will marry you.”

Elated beyond measure, Cullen reached into his nightstand and produced a gold and silver ring with emeralds set within the woven metals. It was his mother’s wedding ring.

“I swear to you, Bethany,” he rasped, his voice hitching with emotion as he slid the ring onto her finger, “that we  _ will _ have a proper ceremony. Somehow, someway, you and I will stand beneath Andraste’s gaze and recite our oaths to one another, with the Maker as our witness.”

With tears leaving glistening trails down her cheeks, Bethany took Cullen’s face in her hands and kissed him softly. “I have all that I need,” she breathed. “As far as I’m concerned, I became your wife the moment you put this ring on my finger.”

Wearing a smile so broad that it hurt, Cullen took her into his arms and held her so close that he could feel her heart beating through his own chest. 

“As you wish, Mrs. Rutherford.”

* * *

 

Cullen was in the training yard running drills with the junior members of the Order when Knight-Captain Rylen approached him. The Starkhavener looked both concerned and afraid, a combination that Cullen never liked to see on the faces of his most stalwart men.

“Knight-Commander.” Rylen saluted before standing at ease at Cullen’s nod. “There is a Seeker waiting for you in your office. She was insistent that she see you as soon as possible.”

Throughout his entire career as a Templar, Cullen had never actually met a Seeker of Truth. All he knew was that if one showed up at your Circle, trouble was afoot. His muscles stiffened with shock and his heart skipped a beat.

“A Seeker? Shit. Take over with the training exercises, and pray that I live through this meeting.”

Rylen saluted once more as Cullen marched off toward his office. His mind began to race about the possible reasons that a Seeker would be showing up at the Kirkwall Circle. They hadn’t even stepped foot in Kirkwall after Meredith became a courtyard decoration. What he feared most was that word about his marriage to Bethany had spread, and the Seeker was present to punish them both.

Pausing before his office door, he took a deep breath and put on an air of calm before stepping inside. There, looking out of his window, was the striking figure of a toned and muscular woman with cropped, jet black hair and wearing the official Seeker of Truth leathers. Her silverite sword and shield were leaning against a chair, which Cullen took as an indication that this was going to be a long meeting.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting,” he said in his most respectful tone. The woman turned toward him and he saluted her. “I am Knight Commander Cullen Rutherford.”

The Seeker smiled and extended her hand instead, which he cautiously shook. “It’s a pleasure, Knight Commander. I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

Motioning for her to take a seat, he offered her some wine, which she accepted politely. “What can I attribute your visit to today, Seeker?” 

The Seeker leaned forward in her chair and handed Cullen a missive. “This is straight out of the White Spire. I would like you to read it for yourself before we discuss the nature of my visit.”

Cullen broke the official seal and read the contents of the scroll in astonishment. “He dissolved our ties to the Chantry? The Lord Seeker is essentially announcing martial law! There will be war.”

“Which brings us to why I’m here.” Cassandra sipped on her wine and sat squarely in her chair. “Word of your ability to restore order has reached the ears of the right people. I know how you rallied the remaining mages and Templars to work together and to rebuild. And I also know that you are looking for a new start with your lovely wife.”

Heat rose to his face as his heart jumped into his throat. He glanced over to the Seeker with worry, but she just waved it off. “At this point, there are no more Circles, so being with you is the best protection for her. But news will spread quickly about the Circles falling. Some mages and Templars may choose to remain behind in the Towers, but then there are those who will now be free to enact the Maker’s will by their own judgement. We can’t save everyone, but there is something that we have been working on. And we would like your help.”

“My...help?” Cullen was a bit overwhelmed at this point, and finished his cup of wine in a single swallow. “How can I help, Seeker?”

“Divine Justinia has decided that a peace summit will be in order to stem the tide of war. I know your reputation of being an honorable man, and many of our brothers and sisters trust you as a leader, without question. I can see great potential in you, Ser Cullen, and I am here to ask you personally if you would join us as Military Advisor to the Inquisition.”

“Join the Divine’s movement? Cullen was speechless. The Divine, head of the Chantry, had unspoken control of entire countries. She was protected by the best of the best, and to be a part of doing the right thing in the eyes of the Maker was very appealing to him.

“Bethany can come as well, of course. And you would no longer require separate quarters,” she said with a sly smile.

“The Templar Order is fracturing, Ser Cullen. Will you choose stability?”

Cullen could barely wrap his head around the Seeker’s proposal. Leave Kirkwall to be Military Advisor to the Divine? Live a normal life with his mage wife? He’d be a damned fool to to refuse.

“Seeker, I must ask, what about lyrium? The Chantry controls it, as you well know.”

“We have suppliers that the Chantry doesn’t know about. Those who still require it will have it. There will be many that will follow you, and we will have a place for them all- Templar and mage alike.” 

Cullen didn’t need to mull it over for very long. This was the opportunity that he’d been waiting for since meeting Bethany, and realizing that the way things were was outdated and dangerous. Life’s journey was meant to be travelled in shades of grey, not black and white. By giving Templars and mages a place to start over together, under the Divine’s banner of peace, he could be part of changing the future for the better. 

He smiled graciously and extended his hand. 

“Very well, Seeker. I accept.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my readers for the love that sustains me! 
> 
> If you want to know what happens to Cullen and Bethany after he agrees to join the Inquisition, check out my main fic Peacekeepers and Champions!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and love in general are always appreciated! It helps lift my spirits <3 <3


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